Business Not Pleasure
by PTBvisiongrrl
Summary: Tables are turned. Lines are crossed. Dean reveals something secret about himself, gets to kill evil things in the process, and still manages to save the day (with Sam's help, of course.)


**FIC TITLE** : Business Not Pleasure

 **Author** \- PTBvisiongrrl

 **Part-** 1/1 (Complete)

 **Date-** September 28, 2015

 **Rating** – M/NC-17

 **Pairings/Characters** \- M/M slashiness (Dean/OMC)- NO WINCEST

 **Word Count-** 16,442

 **Genre-** Angst, PWP

 **Warnings-** This is NOT Wincest. But if M/M slash will offend you, click back now.

 **Spoilers-** Not really. I have only seen through Season 5 and a half; this is largely AU. Place it sometime in Season Two, after the boys meet Jo but before the boys run into Jo hunting.

 **Disclaimers-** _New to the fandom, though not fanfiction, so characters may be a little off._ _Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don't sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Jensen Ackles on the show!_

 **Summary-** Tables are turned. Lines are crossed. Dean reveals something secret about himself, gets to kill evil things in the process, and still manages to save the day (with Sam's help, of course.)

Sam sat at the narrow and oddly low table, the glow of his laptop screen wiping out his features in shadow. It had been almost three days without any hunting, and both Sam and Dean were starting to chafe at the inactivity.

Without a need to go anywhere, the brothers had decided to go a step or two above the usual no-tell and actually pay in cash so they could stay a few days (the need to move frequently was one of the more annoying aspects of using fraudulent credit cards). This place had a pool that had seen better days, but was still decent enough, had free Wi fi, and a few cable channels—plus it was right across from a bar with pool tables. Dean was enjoying setting them up with a fall-back cushion while they had the time; he had been enjoying the attentions of a pretty red-haired waitress as well.

But there are only so many times that you can clean your weapons, re-supply the ammunition and first aid kit, and do laundry. And only so many times you can hook-up before you start to verge on relationship, something Dean did not want to contend with.

"Hey, Dean, think I found us something," Sam looked up to see Dean guiltily sitting back down on Dean's own bed, hands behind his back, trying to hide his latest prank. It was never a good thing for Sam (or Sam's possessions, or his pride) when Dean got bored.

"Yeah, Sammy? What job?" Dean's voice was deceptively light.

Sam decided he was going to enjoy this job. "There may be an incubus operating outside Amity, Arkansas. Not all the victims were found there, but within a twenty-five mile radius. According to the police reports, all of them hung out at a bar nearby."

Dean settled back onto his bed, whatever he'd been hiding safely tucked under the pillow, as he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "It's pretty close by, but we've never hunted an incubus. We're going to need bait. You thinking Jo?"

"No," Sam shook his head, the smile firmly tucked away from his face. "I don't think she'd be much help."

"I'm sure she'd help out, Sam. She likes me," Dean smiled, reaching for his cell.

"She's not really the incubus's type. He seems to go for taller, darker hair, a little more….butch. Seems to really like green eyes and freckles," Sam added, really glad Jo would not be able to play bait.

"She can wear a wig and some of those fuck-me pumps," Dean shrugged.

"Still don't think that will cut it," Sam clicked away, then turned the laptop toward Dean. "Take a look and you'll see what I mean."

Dean came over to look. He blinked a few times, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and then gave a shrug. "Okay. He's into guys."

"He's into guys who look like you, Dean." Sam couldn't hold his laughter in any more. " _ **You**_ get to be bait."

Dean frowned, brows knit together, trying to think of a witty comeback. "I thought incubi went after chicks."

"Historically. But that was simple cultural bias, apparently." Sam sat back and crossed his arms. "Because all eight victims were openly gay. There is no way a succubus would be able to seduce them, and the state of their bodies, when found, indicate a sexual demon."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, sitting back on the edge of his bed, looking a little pained. "This couldn't just be a hate crime spree?"

"There were no marks on the victims. Sexual contact didn't look forced. No sign of theft or illegal entry. No graffiti, or any communication made to indicate a reason." Sam leaned back in and started typing. "Hardly the signs of a hate crime."

"Then what killed them, exactly?" Dean asked. "Like, according to the autopsy, actual science."

"They were dehydrated and malnourished, despite having looked healthy just days before, for starters," Sam continued to scroll down the screen, reading. "Food and water was easily reachable from where they were found, and the victims had not been restrained in any way. Recent sexual activity, but no DNA left behind."

"Are you sure this isn't just a regular crazy person?" Dean shifted, pulling on the knees of his jeans and shifting.

"No, this isn't just a regular crazy person." Sam smiled widely at Dean, chuckling to himself. "This is karma for years of homophobic comments, Dean."

"I am not homophobic!" Dean spat back, then thought for a moment before reaffirming. "Seriously, I don't care what hole you put it in as long as it ain't mine."

Sam shook his head. "How many times have you called me gay? Mocked an emotional reaction by saying it was a _chick-flick_ moment? Asked what had my panties in a twist?"

"That wasn't homophobic, that was just funny," Dean tried to defend himself. "I really don't care who anyone fucks, as long as I get the hot girls. Those comments were all meant to get you to man-up and—"

"And what?" Sam asked. "I can't have an emotional reaction because I'm a guy? I can't, possibly, like something you don't like? Do something you, the all perfect masculine hunter, wouldn't do?"

Leaning one arm down across a knee, Dean rubbed tiredly at his face. "Are you trying to tell me something, Sammy? You want to be bait instead? Or are you trying to come out to me?"

"Damn it, Dean! Every time something goes deeper than a moment of fun, to a real emotion, you shut down and start throwing out gay comments!" Sam closed the laptop lid harder than necessary and started looking for his jacket and the car keys. "I need to get away from you for a while."

"Hey!" Dean stood up, shouting. "Sam! Stop!"

"Why?" Sam demanded, pausing with his arm halfway through a sleeve.

"I don't mean anything by it, you know that if you think about it." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't care if someone is gay, or listens to freakin' Yanni. I only care if they are evil and if I need to kill them."

"You care if they are female," Sam challenged.

"Women and children first, in any danger," Dean challenged back. "You were trained the same as me."

"And how many women have we met, have we worked with, that prove women don't have to be protected and can take care of themselves? Dad taught us that because he felt guilty for not saving Mom." Sam sighed. "And anything or anyone who doesn't seem up to your high standards gets labeled girly or gay. Including me, because Dad told you to take care of me before I could even talk. I never had any choice, or chance, in the matter. That made me less in your eyes, no matter what I do."

"That is not true, Sam!" Dean got red in the face. "You are a good hunter, as good as me."

"Then why is it always you who gets shot, or stabbed, or knocked unconscious? You always, ALWAYS, take the hit for me. You never let me take point," Sam straightened his jacket, turning the door handle and stepping out into the light and slamming the door behind him.

Dean took a deep breath, and settled down to wait for Sam to return, thinking deep and hard.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

It didn't take long. Sam came back into the room with lunch, bags of sandwiches, chips, and soda, within the hour. "Got you pastrami and barbeque chips," he held a bag out in an obvious peace offering.

Dean took it, slowly opening it up and spreading it out. He waited until Sam took a mouthful of sandwich before speaking. "I am not homophobic. Emotionally stunted, maybe, but not homophobic."

Sam nearly choked; not Dean's reason for waiting to speak, but funny. Dean had simply wanted to get it out before he chickened out. Once Sam had recovered, Dean continued. "I mean, our mother died, and then there was nothing, nothing, but taking care of you and eventually learning to hunt. What the hell did I know about taking care of you? I did it, though. Who else was going to? Dad was in no shape to manage two kids on his own. I did my best. I love you, Sammy. You are the only person in the world I do. Of course I am going to try and keep you alive. That means walking into danger first, taking any hit first. I finally got you back, and I don't want you to go away again."

Dean quickly bit off a huge chunk of sandwich and proceeded to chew with his mouth open, deflecting Sam's emotional response.

Sam waited him out. "I love you, too, man. Dad was—Dad. I did what he told me to do, what he taught me. Mostly. If it was about weapons or killing something, he was the go to guy. But if I had a problem, was scared, needed help, I went to you." Sam paused, considering his next words. "Until I couldn't anymore, because you just didn't understand what I was talking about. You never got why I wanted normal, why I wanted to go to college. That's when you started with the comments."

"I still don't get it," Dean said quietly. "Hunting is not…normal, I know. Definitely not safe. I think of all the hunters who have died, but how many did they save? Think of all the innocents that would have been hurt in the demon crossfire if those hunters hadn't been doing what we do. I choose this because it matters, and it matters more than me. So do you. I'm sorry I don't have all the social graces you would prefer."

"I wish you understood that you matter, too, Dean." And that, Sam knew, was the closest to a heart-to-heart over their upbringing as there would be. "So can you manage to play nice with these civilians long-enough to find out who is killing them?"

Dean sighed. "Yes. I think I can, Samantha." And then he smiled around another mouthful of food.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

"We need to go shopping," Sam frowned critically at Dean's clothing. "You don't look like bait."

Dean sighed. "I don't know how to look like bait, Sammy. I'm a hunter, not prey."

"That's only part of it," Sammy frowned. "And I don't think you can change that, or you'd have a career in acting. Clothes, though, that's a problem we can fix."

"What's wrong with these jeans?"

"Maybe the blood stain at the knee, or the tear across your thigh from a knife slash?" Sam ventured.

"So what do gay jeans look like, then?" Dean sighed, rubbing his hand tiredly over his face. This was more painful than he thought it would be, and they hadn't even made it out of their room yet.

"There is no 'gay' look, unless you're wrapping yourself in some rainbows."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. This job made him very, very uncomfortable, but after Sam's little homophobic blow-up yesterday Dean was not willing to talk any further about his feelings.

And Dean was most definitely not ready to tell Sam that Sam was right.

"You looked up their social media. What did these guys dress like?" Dean asked. "I mean, does this incubus have more to his type than just hair and eye color?"

Sam opened his laptop and started typing. Dean went back to the bathroom and messed more with his hair. There was lot he was willing to do for the job, and even more to prove himself to Sam, but while he would wear and do whatever was necessary to get the demon's attention, that didn't mean he was comfortable. The deep sigh of frustration Sam let out drew Dean back into the main room. "What's wrong? Do I have to wear a Village People costume or something?"

That drew an evil glare from Sam before he answered Dean. "You need jeans that fit a little tighter and don't have stains or tears. A plain t-shirt is fine, but not black and not as baggy as you usually wear one. And a button-down over the t-shirt, just not plaid or flannel. Designer would be good."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, princess. Let's go find these duds."

"And a few changes of clothes. We don't know how long it will take to catch him, and I don't want to keep going shopping," Sam added. He really hoped it wouldn't take long to wrap this up, because while he enjoyed making Dean uncomfortable, Dean was acting like a whiny bitch to beat the band.

"You really think, once I turn on the charm, that its going to take more than one night?' Dean scoffed.

Sam studied Dean, then smiled. "You sleep with Jo yet?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "That is a low blow. She's like a little sister and jailbait to boot."

"She's not jailbait. You flirt shamelessly with her. She's flirted back. Why not score the homerun?" Sam pushed, actually interested in the answer Dean would choose to give.

Gritting his teeth, Dean bit back a retort and instead grinned. He said, "I wouldn't want to spoil her for other men. First time that great and all. Who'd ever live up to the Dean Winchester standard?"

"You think she's a virgin?" Sam snorted as he slid into the passenger seat and shut his door.

Dean studied Sam, suddenly not really happy with the direction this was going in. "Yeah. I got a sixth sense about that sort of thing."

Sam laughed his ass off at Dean. "She is NOT a virgin."

"And you know that how, Sammy? What did demon-you get up to with her?" Dean was getting pissed and ready to defend Jo.

"Not demon-me, thank god. Before that." Sam shuddered. "If it had been demon-me, I would never be able to look her or Ellen in the eye again."

"You had sex with Jo?" Dean's voice dropped even lower than usual, with an edge of danger curling around the words.

Sam blushed and shrunk down into the seat a little, eyes darting anywhere but to meet Dean's. Sam had expected an atta boy, maybe a little bitterness that he had gotten there before Dean….but not the vibe Dean was currently projecting.

"Was she a virgin?" Dean pressed.

Sam couldn't help the shit-eating grin that crept across his face.

Dean whistled lowly. "Damn, Sammy. I have under estimated you. I hope you made it worth her while."

"Are you asking me if she was good?" Sam asked incredulously.

"I'm asking if YOU were good. First time and all…it's a responsibility. You don't want to turn her into a lesbian." Dean joked, but was a little envious.

"Dean!" Sam threw him bitch face #25.

"Hey, I got no problem with lesbians. I like lesbians. Well, I like watching lesbians have sex." Dean continued.

"Dean!" Sam switched to bitch face #47.

"Calm down. I really was fucking with you there." Dean felt the oddest big brother twinge—and not about Sam. "But you took good care of her, right?"

"You really think you're the only Winchester with sex skills?" Sam verbally bitch-slapped Dean before answering the question. "Apparently I did just fine, since we've hooked up twice since."

Dean's facial reaction was priceless. He couldn't help but glance away from the road and towards his brother on the passenger seat. "Shit, Sammy! Ellen will kill you if she finds out."

Quirking up an eyebrow, Sam shrugged. "Not really. She knows, and I'm still in one piece without any bullet holes."

Dean's eyes were comical. "I can't believe you are still alive."

Sam chuckled. "I'm sure that its just that Ellen was happy it wasn't you."

Dean smacked Sam's arm across the Impala's broad front seat. "Congratulations. You passed the mom test."

Sam shook his head. "There is no mom test. We're hunters. Ellen knows what hunters are like, and she knows Jo is old enough to make her own decisions about some things. And I am much smarter and nicer than you, so she's willing to give me a pass." Laughing at Dean's face at hearing those words, Sam changed the conversation back to the job at hand. "So, again, I bring up that this might take more than one night, so get more clothes."

Dean shook his head, pulling into a parking spot as they arrived at an upscale thrift shop they'd Googled on the way to Amity. "Okay. I'll concede that I haven't picked dudes up before, so this might take a few days. No more than three, though. No one can resist my charm."

Sam slammed his door behind him and leaned on the Impala's roof. "Shoot for five. Just in case." Then he turned and headed through the door, not giving Dean an opportunity to respond back.

It took over an hour, and by the end, Dean never wanted to go clothes shopping again. He had begrudgingly agreed to not buy all black (really, it was his default color choice simply because it was the easiest to get blood and other bodily fluids out of), but he refused to buy the skin-tight jeans Sam thought would be a good purchase.

"No. And its not that I'm worried about getting my ass stared at by a guy," Dean sniped. "Its that I can't hide any weapons in those jeans."

Sam nodded with a frown. "Uh-huh."

"I gave in to the green shirt to bring out my eyes, dammit!" Dean grimaced. "Please don't make me try and hide a gun in those." Dean's plea was in a little, pathetic voice.

Sam laughed and agreed. "Okay. Get the other jeans. They're tight enough but should let you keep your gun. And you can keep your own boots."

"Thank god," Dean muttered. "Let's pay and get outta here."

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Amity was a typical American small town—less than a thousand people, and not much more than a convenience store and garage for a downtown. Houses were tidy but worn, and a decent distance away from each other. Farms surrounded the town proper. Not too far out of town, however, was the bar that Sam thought might have something to do with the deaths—Rooster's, the only gay bar for two hundred miles in any direction, and dead center of the radius for the killings.

Sam and Dean again checked into a slightly higher quality no-tell than usual (Dean justifying that he might have to bring the incubus back to the room to gank him, and what gay guy would willingly follow him into a dump) in walking distance to the bar. It was early in the day, but knowing they'd be up half the night both hunters opted to close the black out curtains and get some shut eye.

The alarm went off shortly before dinner. As bait, Dean demanded first shower and ended up using all the hot water. He shaved his usual scruff down nice and smooth, and also took extra care with the hair. It felt odd to put on a button-down dress shirt without a tie or the FBI suit jacket; odder still that the t-shirt beneath the white cloth was green, and the jeans were less worn than usual. The dress shirt, left open and untucked, at least hid the gun at his back and the knife on his hip. The tight jeans left no doubt which pocket held wallet and phone, though.

Dean was less comfortable than usual, but not terribly so. He sat rather restlessly on the bed, clicking through the limited cable channels without really looking at what he was speeding past. Thank god he didn't have to put on any make-up or anything. Not that all gay guys did that, of course. Fuck, he mentally groaned. Was he going to have to drink some girly, fruity drink?

Sam emerged from the bathroom then, less than thrilled by the temperature of his shower. "You didn't have to use ALL the hot water, jerk."

"Yes, I did, bitch. Need to look purdy, don't I?" Dean stopped surfing and settled on catching a familiar part of _Die Hard_.

Sam rubbed his longer hair dry carefully, studying Dean but not saying anything.

"Well?" Dean demanded. "Do I look tasty enough for a gay incubus, or what?"

Sam threw the wet towel at Dean's face. Dean, of course, caught it, but bitched Sam out anyway. "Dude! Hair! I don't want to have to spend another half hour fixing the damage!"

Sam sighed deeply and dressed. He took a little extra care, because he did need to look decent for a pick-up bar so that the brothers wouldn't look too suspicious, but not much.

"Hair that long might confuse someone into thinking you're a girl, Sasquatch," Dean snarked.

Sam took it, knowing Dean's snark level was in reverse proportion to his level of comfort. Sam didn't understand the discomfort, which annoyed him, but Dean as unhappy bait got a little more leeway than usual. "You want me to put it in pigtails?" Sam shot over his shoulder, giving his brother something else to distract himself with.

"C'mon. Let's go get dinner. Don't want you to have to go be charming on an empty stomach," Sam reached towards the car keys, only to have Dean whip past and grab them out of his reach.

"Diner down the road. I saw a sign for the best fries in Arkansas," Dean smiled.

Sam went along with it, letting Dean work his nervousness out with childish behavior through out dinner. Only directed at Sam, though, because Dean still managed to utterly charm the waitress and flirt with her while simultaneously tormenting Sam. Dean shot Sam with his straw wrapper, right between the eyes. Then he loosened the lid on the salt so that it fell off when Sam used it. Dean kept kicking Sam in the shins under the table, and shaking his leg so hard that the table shook, too. Sam's patience was nearing an end by the time the pretty auburn haired waitress brought their check and handed it to Dean, her phone number clearly written on the back. "Thanks, sweetheart," Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The waitress practically melted.

Seriously? thought Sam. And then he got even. Passing the register, leaving Dean to pay, he grabbed a couple mints and dropped them into Dean's shirt pocket. "You had onions. You'll want these for later at Rooster's," he said loud enough for the waitress to hear, turning her schmoopy smile into a frown.

Dean made his way out a few minutes later, surly frown on his face. "Bitch. Why'd you have to do that? I was hoping to tap that before we left town!"

Sam just shook his head. He knew Dean never lied to the women he slept with, but still. Sometimes Dean just had to be so crass about it. "Rooster's."

Dean put the Impala into drive and blasted AC/DC in revenge for Sam's cock-blocking.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Sam played wingman tonight. Usually, when the Winchesters took a break and went to a bar, Dean headed to the ladies and Sam sat far away. Not that Sam never hooked up for a random night, but he certainly didn't have Dean's batting average there. Sam and Dean went over to the bar together. Ordering two beers on tap, Dean leaned his back against the bar to scope the room out while Sam sat facing the bar counter itself and surveying its occupants in the mirrored background.

It didn't look any different from any other small town bar, really. The bar itself was scratched oak, the floor was worn pine board, the top shelf liquor looked dusty and full, pool tables lined the back wall, and the jukebox blared from a corner. It could have been any of a hundred other bars Sam and Dean had been in, save for the deafening Madonna and a lack of waitresses. It was nothing like the one gay bar Jess's best friend, Daniel, had talked Sam and Jess into going to at Stanford the once. Of course, a college bar was already pretty far from this one without bringing orientation into it.

When the bartender, a little on the young side (and since when did Dean really care much about age?), plunked down two bottles and asked Dean a little too leeringly if there was anything else he could do for him, Dean forced himself to playfully smile. "Nothing else right now, sweetheart," Dean handed over a credit card, letting the bartender's finger brush against his, "but you never know later on." He winked with the smile, and the bartender actually smiled.

"I'll keep that in mind." the bartender winked back before heading to the register.

Sam took a sip. "Impressive. Not even five minutes in here and already got someone trying to put the moves on you."

Dean took a mouthful of his own beer. "No one puts the moves on me, Sammy. Other way around. And the bartender's not bad looking, but he can barely be old enough to work here."

The plastic of the credit card made a clicking sound as the bartender returned it with a raised eyebrow, obviously overhearing the conversation. "Turned 22 a month ago, sweetheart," he left a pen over the receipt, with the card. "Name's Kevin. And I generally like my men a little….older."

Dean almost spit out his beer. He was being called…old? "Just how old do you think I am?" Dean practically squeaked.

"I have a feeling you two play a few Daddy games-," Kevin smiled, and held up his hands in surrender, "no judgment here!—but you aren't quite in my preferred age bracket."

Sam's eyes went round, and Dean sighed. Why did people keep thinking that he and Sam were something other than brothers? "He's my brother, not my boyfriend."

Kevin had the grace to look embarrassed, his ears coloring pink. "Sorry. Nice brother to go to a gay bar with you."

"He's very supportive," Dean agreed as he signed the receipt and headed it back. "And I'm not into Daddy games."

Sam laughed, drinking more, and Kevin left with a friendly smile. Still laughing, Sam smacked Dean on the shoulder. "Hunting's a hard life. I'm sure I look older than I am, too, Dean."

"I'm friggin' 29!" Dean fumed, a fact that he reiterated to Kevin when he came to ask if they wanted another drink.

"Okay, dude. I didn't mean to upset you, was just messing with you a little for calling me a baby-face." Kevin leaned an elbow on the bar. "This isn't exactly a warm and opening area for people like us, what with fag-beatings on Saturdays and the preachers bible-thumping against us on Sundays. So to get any static from another fag? I get touchy. I'm sorry."

Dean squirmed a little at being labeled as such, but held any comments in. Kevin might be a good source for information. "Saturday beatings? We're just in town on business, not staying long. Hadn't heard anything about those."

Kevin shrugged. "Not much talk about those. Most folks around here think its perfectly okay to do it. Not as often as it used to happen, but a few times a year at least. Summer, mostly. It's part of the reason this bar has such an awesome security system. Anyone who comes in here is on film, color, high-resolution picture and sound, so that if there are any issues later, we know who to ban. Even got the parking lot set up to see all the license plates. Cops certainly won't do anything about it."

Sam nodded his head. "It doesn't bother people to know there is evidence they've been in a gay bar?"

"There's enough gossips and bigots that everyone knows if you're here anyway, with or without evidence. This is just protection." With a head nod, Kevin left to tend to a customer at the far end of the bar.

"Still sure that this might not be some weird hate crime, Sam?" Dean asked, settling onto a bar stool but half-turned to keep an eye on the room.

"More convinced. If beating gays up is accepted, why kill them without leaving a mark?" Sam asked lowly. "You should go play some pool while I talk more to Kevin. I'll be over soon, bring more beers."

Dean nodded, heading off to one thing that didn't change from one bar to any other bar—pool.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Dean spied a free table and headed over to rack the balls. Placing his bottle on a window ledge, checking out the pool sticks on the wall rack to find one that felt right in his hand, he felt a presence at his back. "Up for a game?" Dean asked nonchalantly.

"Sure," a deep baritone, faint drawl just evident, answered. Dean turned to introduce himself and had a moment where he almost lost his composure. The man in front of him…take off a few pounds of muscle and maybe an inch or two of height, and the man in front of him was Jacob Reismann, one of the few friends he had bothered to make during his highly-mobile teenage hood.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Sixteen, at a new school again, trying to look cool and keep up in classes, since his father said this time they would be staying somewhere for a full month, Dean had rebelled. Just a little. Jake had sat next to him in math and ended up his lab partner in Bio. They both liked football, and shooting guns, and Jake had his own motorcycle that he didn't mind sitting two on. They became inseparable, when Dean wasn't watching Sammy or hunting.

Dean never liked people, at least not at first. People usually had to somehow impress him, show him they weren't idiots or prey, before he warmed up to them. Given how frequently the Winchesters moved, that meant Dean rarely warmed up to anyone. Jake never had to impress Dean, though. All Jake had to do was smile and say hi. This guy could NOT be Jake. Jake was from Haven, Montana, thousands of miles away. How could he be the one guy to approach Dean in a gay bar a decade after Dean had left Jake, and Haven, in the middle of the night with no warning, the usual Winchester MO?

And that was the kicker. It couldn't be him. It wasn't. Succubi appear as your ideal woman. What if…

And how could the incubus know? Dean had never told anyone about Jake being more than just a friend. Hell, he barely admitted it to himself. Just like Dean had never told anyone how he had managed to stretch the meager money John left the boys to eat with while he was on his hunting trips.

Well, except for Jake. Jacob, of course, knew Dean liked him as more than a friend. Dean's tongue shoved down Jake's throat (and later, Dean's plump lips wrapped around Jake's 'snake') were more than a clue without the words. And Dean had told him about the men he'd turned tricks with. But only Jake, and no one else, before or since.

"Why don't you break?" Dean managed to get out, drinking most of his beer in an attempt to hide his discomfort.

This guy—this guy was Jake all grown up. The shoulders, broad even at just 18, had broadened further. Arms that had been muscular from playing sports and working on his motorcycle were more fully defined, and that definition was emphasized by the tattoos up and down his arms. Dean remembered that flat stomach, muscular but not quite a six-pack, which now flexed temptingly beneath a tight white wife beater. And his ass was the same, jeans hugging its firm roundness, Dean discovered over the course of the game.

Jacob introduced himself. Dean did as well, leaving off the last name. There was a look of familiarity at his name, and Jacob stupidly said, "You look familiar. Do we know each other?"

Dean played dumb, knowing full well they do, and a little hurt Jake doesn't remember him before he reminds himself that this is not Jake. Its an evil creature that its Dean's job to gank so that said evil creature will stop killing people. As the game progresses—Sam dropped another drink off and retreated fairly quickly at Dean's subtle hint—Dean wonders if Jacob really could have ended up here, the middle of no where Arkansas, just as Dean arrives. Which is how Dean knows it isn't really Jacob.

But why is the incubus showing himself as Jacob? Dean wondered. Was it because Jake was the only guy in Dean's memory that the incubus could pick up on? Or was Jacob really Dean's ideal man?

Dean managed to flirt, keeping Jake interested, while winning (not by too much to create any bad feelings), for the better part of an hour and two more games. Taking a break before another game, Dean went to get them both another drink just so he could consult with Sam.

"We got him. You know how to off him yet?" Dean asked, waiting for Kevin to retrieve the two beers and shots he had ordered.

"Why do you think this guy is the incubus?" Sam asked. "Did he do something suspicious?

"He isn't who he appears to be," was all Dean would say.

"What the hell do you mean?" Sam asked, his eyes puzzled. "Do you know him or something?"

Dean repeated, "He isn't who he appears to be. He hasn't done anything, but I know. He said his name is Jacob Reismann. He's from Montana."

"And? How does that make him the incubus?" Sam demanded, still confused. And then memory washed over him. Dean doesn't want to tell Sam why he knows this is in the incubus. But Sam knows. Sam figured it out. Sam REMEMBERS Jake. "Never mind. I got it now."

"You know how I know he's the incubus?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised and voice creeping up.

"Yes," Sam stated. "I know how you know."

"Are you sure?" Dean pressed.

"Yes, and I don't care." Sam drank some more. "But we still don't know how to gank him, not for sure. I didn't think we'd find it this fast."

"Doubting me again, Sam," Dean pounded back a shot. "You don't care how I know its him? This doesn't freak you out a little?"

"Dude. You fucked him in the Impala outside our hotel room. I knew you snuck out, and looked out the window. I saw who you met. And then later, after I went back to sleep because I knew you didn't actually leave, since I didn't hear the car start, I heard the car rockin' and looked out. I could see who you were with."

Dean felt his stomach drop, flabbergasted and afraid. He tried to fix the feeling by downing the second shot meant for Jake. "And you never said anything, Sammy?"

Sam sighed, finishing his beer before turning to look Dean in the eye. "Right after we left there, you were suddenly screwing any girl who would let you get into her pants. You even went after the older ladies for a bit, too. It was obvious that you were having some…issues afterwards. I didn't want to push."

Dean felt slightly mollified. Sam had only caught a glimpse of one incident. "And it was just the hot MILFs. Not into grandmas," Dean corrected.

Shrugging, not really caring about the distinction, Sam continued, "So I figured you were working something out for yourself, and when you were ready you would tell me. Not to mention that I did NOT want the details of your gay sex life—"

"Hey!" Dean protested and was quickly cut off by Sam's speaking.

"Honestly, the way you spilled details of your hetero sex life, I figured gay sex would be the same, and I am not into it. When you never said anything, I figured it was an experiment and you had decided you didn't like it."

Dean was very uncomfortable with this exposure. Dean worried, really felt serious anxiety grip his chest. What else does Sam know about Dean that Dean doesn't want him to? Please don't let it be that…don't let Sam know that too.

Sam gave him a few minutes, but then called Dean on his silence. "What, are you worried that I know? I am well aware that you aren't perfect, Dean. But you're my brother, and what makes you _you_ —well, as fucked up as it might be, I wouldn't change any of it."

Dean studied his beer, lost in anxiety and speaks softly without thinking clearly about it. "At least the parts you know."

Sam scoffed. "Dean? I think I know pretty much damn everything about you. Unless you murdered innocent children and virgins at a black mass while I was at Stanford, I think we're all caught up."

Dean's voice was small, higher in register than normal. Sam barely heard Dean's words, but knew he couldn't ignore them once he figured out what was said.

"No, we're not. And I really don't want to be fully caught up either."

"Well, maybe I do. Why would you hide things from me? You know everything about me, Dean, every dark horrible thing about me and yet still are my brother."

"You have not done the things I've done, Sammy, and I would never have wanted you to," Dean replied, still not meeting Sam's eyes.

Sam was becoming increasingly concerned. "What do you mean?"

Dean shook this feeling off. Cracking his neck and gathering the beer bottles he had come over to get, he said in a stronger voice, "This is going to have to wait. We have a job."

Sam shook his head, keeping Dean's eyes on him. "Nope. The job just walked out of the bar, Dean."

"Shit!" Dean cursed. "We gotta follow him—was he alone?"

Sam stayed seated. "He was alone. The incubus was interested, even I could tell that, but not interested enough yet. He's probably still sated with the last vic and has some time to be choosy. We're going to have to come back tomorrow. We know what skin he's wearing now."

"No, let's take care of this tonight—" Dean pressed.

"Don't you want better proof before we accidentally gank some human?" Sam played the Dean's conscience card, knowing it would work.

"Fuck," was all Dean answered, his disgust at himself and anger at missing the prey obvious in the following moments of silence. "Okay. More research first and hope he doesn't need a top-off."

Kevin returned just then, a slip of paper in his hand. "That guy Jake asked me to give this to you. He said it looked like you and Sam were having an argument and he didn't want to intrude."

Deans eye close and he sighed. "Is that a kiss off note because he thinks Sam is my boyfriend?"

Kevin chuckled. "No. And I told him you were brothers when he asked me about how 'busy' you two were." Kevin stayed while Dean read the note, waiting to hear what was in it. "So?" he asked, leaning on the bar to hear.

Dean half-smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up. It was more smirk-like really. "He's got an early morning meeting, so he has to leave, but he would like to know if I want to meet up here tomorrow night. Left his number."

Kevin smiled back. "You are lucky. He's a hottie. A little older than I thought you'd go for…but I'll happily make him feel better after you leave town."

Sam and Dean shoot each other looks. Jake looked just about their age. What was Kevin talking about?

And that was the proof they needed to be sure. Kevin had said it himself earlier, he liked older men. Dean tried to look as if he wasn't sure he should call Jake, as if he was considering options. "How old do you think he is, Kevin?"

Kevin smiled wider. "That gray at the temples? South of 50, but not by much." Kevin had to leave for another drink order.

No reason to stay any longer, and waiting to discuss the job in private, Sam and Dean left the bar. Sam was all for calling Jake right now, and Dean wanted to put it off until tomorrow morning. Dean just really was not ready to do this.

Sam gave Dean two options. "I drive, you call Jake. Or you drive, and then you and I can talk more then about these secrets you have."

Dean handed the keys over and slid into the passenger seat before dialing. Jake picked up on the third ring, surprised to hear from Dean so soon. The two men quickly made plans to meet back up at 7 PM tomorrow at the bar. Dean makes sure he sounds warm and charming, thinking very hard of the real Jake as he talked to the fake one. It was the only way to make himself seem genuine. Hanging up, Dean tried to relax his tense muscles into the Impala's leather.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Sam was really upset that there were things that Dean considered horrible secrets about himself that Sam didn't know and wouldn't know unless Dean told him. They had spent most of their lives in exceedingly close proximity and most of their time together. How did Dean even HAVE any more secrets to hide? Sam was a half-demon freak who was going to go to the dark side and need to be put down; how much worse could Dean's secrets be, that they needed to be kept from his future Sith-lord brother?

The worry caused Sam to spend a rather sleepless night trying to figure out what Dean didn't want him to know, combing through memories of growing up together to try and figure them out.

Dean doesn't sleep much better, having flashbacks to 10, 12 and desperately needing money but not able to get a job or steal enough….and stumbling across sex for money. Started as selling his dirty socks and underwear to this guy in town another kid told him about…(1) In the next town, Dean paid close attention to the "stay away from" conversations among the twits at school so that he learned where and what he could do to make extra money if he needed to.

It was kind of nasty, but he had rules set up in his head to keep his inner-self away from the use of his body. No kissing (yeah, Julia Roberts had that right), condoms at all times, he wasn't bottoming, no full fucking. Fellatio, letting them watch him get off, hand jobs…no penetration for him, no exchange of bodily fluids, no kinks that would leave visible marks. It wasn't a regular job, he only did it when they were desperate, but often enough that he had had a bad john or two and paid the price.

Dean was not quiet in his sleep state, talking as well as whimpering, tossing and turning endlessly. Sam learned enough to make some educated guesses as to what the dreams were about. The question for Sam, though, was whether they were just dreams? And if not—why would Dean have done that to himself?

When the sun finally rose, Sam gave up on sleeping and showered, heading out to get coffee and some breakfast sandwiches. Dean woke up to the smell of coffee, feeling rough and tired, and quickly headed for a shower after downing half the cup.

Sam ambushed Dean outside the shower. He put two and two together while out this morning; he had remembered a scar on Dean's lower back that appeared suddenly when Sam was 8 and Dean was 12. When Sam noticed and asked about it, Dean had shushed him and brushed the question to the side. In the mess of their lives, Sam had forgotten about it, just as Dean had planned.

Now, though, Sam got behind Dean as Dean stood in a towel, digging out clean clothes from his duffel, and brushed against the scar.

It made Dean jump, and while his voice was even in challenging, "What the fuck are you doing, Sammy?" Sam could see him shaking as he quickly pulled on his clothes so fast that his t-shirt ended up inside out. A fact that Sam noticed but Dean did not.

Sam crossed his arms, stood his ground, and demanded, "What is that scar from, Dean?"

"What scar?" Dean scoffed, trying to dismiss the question without answering.

Sam deliberately leaned around Dean's body, rucked his shirt up his back, and trailed his fingers along the scar again.

Dean's eyes hardened. "Personal space, Sam. Back up."

"What. Gave. You. That. Scar?" demanded Sam, his voice going hard.

"A fight, I guess. I don't remember," Dean brushed him off and tried to push past Sam to get to the table and breakfast. He wasn't hungry, but it seemed like the normal thing to do.

"A fight," Sam repeated. "Then why are you trembling from me touching it?"

"I am not…. _trembling_ ," Dean scoffed. "I don't remember how I got that one. I have a lot of scars. That one's so old I forgot I even had it, much less how it got there!" Dean mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast burrito.

"You remember each and every scar from hunting, Dean. You tell the stories when you're drunk enough. You have to know when and how you got this one." Sam continued to push.

"No, I don't. Lay off and let me have some more caffeine," Dean swallowed his food.

Towering over seated Dean, Sam gave him a hard look that kept him in his chair. "I remember that you got it when you were 12 and I was 8. It was while dad was away on a hunt. I remember waking up, dead of night, and you had the bathroom light on and first aid kit out. You weren't facing the door; you were facing the mirror, but had your head turned away from the door to see what you were doing. I could see it all. I asked you if you were okay, you said you were, but I could tell that you weren't. Then you closed the door and were in there so long I fell asleep again. You were already up and dressed and cracking the whip to get me to school the next morning, so I forgot about it. But you kept your shirt on around me for a least two weeks, if not longer. Dad never saw it until after it had healed."

Dean was trembling harder, staring at the floor because he couldn't meet Sam's eyes anymore. His own eyes were watery. "I don't remember that at all. I think you've got a great imagination, though, Sammy."

"Knock it the fuck off, Dean!" Sam snapped, yelling in frustration. "Something bad happened when you 12 and Dad wasn't home, and you never told me about it. I can understand not telling me about Jake, I really do, actually, but I don't understand the reason you won't tell me about this scar. Jake wasn't until, like, 4 years later, so the scar has no connection to this hunt. Why won't you tell me? What are you still trying to protect me from?"

Dean refused to look up, but answered Sam. "They are tied together, in my fucked up head," Dean admitted tiredly. "But I don't want you to know how. I'm allowed to have some privacy in my life. You don't need to know this because it doesn't affect the job. Its personal, and its something I want to keep to myself, alright?"

"No. I can see how this is affecting you. You barely slept last night. And you talk in your sleep, a lot." Sam didn't want to misunderstand the connection based on wild muttering during nightmares. "I can make a guess how these things are connected, based on what I heard, but I'd rather have the truth. And I really, really don't like my big brother not trusting me."

"Sam, please, I'm begging." Dean managed to meet Sam's eyes, and the abject terror and misery in them made Sam want to stop this—but he knew he had to press on. "Please don't make me do this."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I need to know."

Dean nodded, still unhappy. "At least wait until after the job?" he asked.

"No." Sam could see the word hit Dean harder than a physical strike. "You aren't in any mental shape for the job right now. Unless you tell me, you aren't working tonight. I don't want you to get yourself killed."

"You can't bench me—" Dean began to rise from his seat, anger boiling out from him like a tsunami.

"You told me that I am just as good a hunter as you are, Dean. That means we are equals in this, now. Its not the little brother learning from his big brother and never being allowed to be in charge. Not following mindless orders anymore. Tell me what's up."

Dean finished rising and stiffly headed out to the Impala's trunk, getting the emergency whiskey out and heading back in. Slamming the bottle on the table, he screwed the lid off and took a deep swig before dumping a hefty dose into his remaining coffee as well.

"Little early for that, isn't it, Dean?" Sam asked with evident concern.

"Its five o'clock somewhere, Sammy, and I can't do this without some liquid courage." Dean rubbed his fingers absent-mindedly against the texture of his jeans.

"How bad can it be, Dean?" Sam was beginning to edge past fear and into terror. "I have demon blood in me and I'm destined to become some horrible monster. No matter what, I owe you to stick by you."

Dean took a deep drink of alcohol-infused coffee before speaking, his voice unsteady. "I was raped by my math teacher."

Sam felt the air leave his lungs and it took a minute to get his voice back. "You were raped? You were 12…what a sick fuck…what was her name? Did this happen more than the once?"

" _His_ name was Mr. Matthews. It happened just the once, but that was more because we left so soon after. He had every intention of doing it again." Dean stated, his voice empty of emotion.

"Oh." And suddenly Sam got it, got the link—well, he thought he did. And Dean knew it. Dean could have left it there, could have mislead Sam a little more and kept 95% of his strong big brother cred in place but the sense of relief, the sense that Sam was outraged for him, not mad at him, not ashamed that Dean did not fight his way out of it, made him blurt the rest of it out.

"He wasn't the only one, not even the first. He was just the only one who got it for free."

Sam sat down hard on the wooden chair, leaning elbows down on the table and wrapping his hands in his hair. "He wasn't the first? You were 12!"

"The first was a year before." Dean toyed with his nearly-empty coffee cup.

"And what do you mean the only one who got it for free?" This was worse than Sam had envisioned.

Dean didn't want to verbalize that one. It was one thing to admit to being ass-raped a few times by guys bigger than him. In all honesty, Dean knew that if that was all it had been, it wouldn't be his fault. But that wasn't it. He went after those guys, offered sex for money. That made what he got his just deserts. He was wrong in the first place, so wrong, and the rapes were proof of it. It was just punishment for him being such a filthy pervert, for bringing such darkness into Sammy's life.

Sam repeated his question, his voice dropping in register and turning into more of a growl. "What do you mean the only one who got it for free?"

Dean cleared his throat. "There's not a lot of things a 10 year old, hell a 14 year old, can do for quick cash, Sammy. And sometimes we needed quick cash when Dad wasn't around. I'm sorry I did those things. I never meant for you to find out. I just—I needed to take care of you."

"You sold yourself to take care of me, and you think I'm going to be mad at you for it?" Sam was utterly incredulous.

"I'm not a good man, Sam. I never was. Having been a rent-boy is just even more proof of that." Dean chuckled without humor.

"Christ, Dean you were a kid, a kid with no options. If anyone found out that we didn't have food, that Dad was never home, they would have slapped us into foster care. As much as I hated hunting, I certainly didn't want that. You found a way to keep us okay and together. It is not your fault. That's Dad's fault. This is all on him. You are blameless. Fuck, you're a hero. You did what you thought had to be done."

"Fucking men for money is not heroic, Sam. Its desperate and demeaning and disgusting," Dean argued.

"Dean," Sam started, but had to pause. He really wasn't sure how to say what he needed to, how to make Dean understand. After a moment of silence he tried again. "Dean—"

Dean cut him off. "Nothing you can say, Sammy, will change the past or make it better. I just don't think about it anymore. No point. I didn't need to do it once I got good enough at pool, or at cards. After they sent me away, I made sure to be good enough so I wouldn't have to do it anymore, ever, so I wouldn't get caught and taken away from you again. I don't want to think about it now."

Sam tried a gentler approach. "Why does Jake make you remember this, exactly? I mean, I get he was a guy…"

"He's the only guy. I never—I had rules. A menu and price list. There were things I refused to do. Actual sex, penetration, was one. Kept it as business, not pleasure, I guess. I mean, I liked girls, I made out with them, I slept with them when they'd let me, I'd let them do what they wanted to me, but I liked guys too. Just not as openly or as many of them, and mostly from a distance. I never even kissed a guy before Jake. Jake was just…he was my dream guy, incubus approved. I did things with Jake I wouldn't do with tricks. Things I really haven't done since." Dean shook his head.

"Like actual gay sex, in the Impala?" Sam tried to lighten the mood a little.

"Yeah." Dean agreed. "And I'm not sure I can handle doing any thing even close to that with an evil Jake, even for the job. I'm weak."

"No, you aren't. You are the strongest person I know. You have an absolute moral compass that I envy. That I can't replicate, no matter how I've tried," Sam tried to raise Dean back up, to pull him out of this morose pit. Sam had never seen Dean look so emotionally beaten.

"I think the absolute was created bent, Sammy." Dean acknowledged Sam's attempt to cheer him up even as he ignored it. "I have done such fucked up things. Doesn't matter if they were for a good cause or not."

Sam decided to try another tactic. "Did you love Jake?"

"How the fuck would I know? Haven't loved anyone before. I mean, I love you like a brother. I love Dad, bastard that he could be, and Bobby. But never loved a girl, never a romantic love, so I don't know," he shrugged.

"I loved Natalie Brower. We stayed in her town in Ohio for two and a half weeks when I was 13," Sam offered as an example.

"You lost your virginity when you were 15. You told me so." Dean scoffed.

"Real love doesn't require sex. Sex is just an awful nice perk," Sam stated.

Dean considered that through. "Then I might have been in love a time or two. At least once, I think. That was Jake."

Sam let the weight of that statement fall into the room and settle down. "If you can't handle this, Dean, I really won't think less of you."

"I can do this, Sam." Dean said. "If you think I can, if you really don't see what I did as damaging or wrong."

"No. I do not see what you did as wrong. The guys it was with? Who did that to you? They were wrong. You were a kid. And how could a teacher of all things rape a kid?" Sam demanded.

Dean swallowed hard as he told the tale. "He saw me working one night. He knew he could ruin our lives if he told. He used it blackmail me into it. I didn't agree easy, that first time. I fought him."

"The first time?" Sam asked.

"The other times were just…I gave him head," Dean shrugged it off as not a big deal. "But the first time, he wanted more than that. I fought him so hard he couldn't take me until he pulled a knife. He bent me over the back seat of his car, kept that knife pressed against my lower back so that I wouldn't try and move and I didn't. Not an inch, at least of my own volition."

Sam's eyes were tearing up, but he had to clarify. "If you didn't—but what about the scar? How then?"

Dean reached around to trace his fingers on the scar. "When he was finished, he cut me just to prove he was willing to so that I would listen better the next time."

"Dean—" Sam really didn't know what to say.

"At least it was just him, at least we left that town quick," Dean tried to downplay the incident. He'd had worse, not that he'd want to tell that to Sam.

"And Jake…was in the back seat of the Impala," Sam continued to try and put together the many pieces of his brother's psychological puzzle.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was really into him," Dean reflected, hindsight creating a greater understanding of his past. "I trusted him enough not to hurt me. But I still I couldn't let him do that to me."

Sam made a noise of not understanding.

"I gotta explain tab a and slot b to you, Sammy?" Dean weakly joked.

"Oh. OH," Sammy got it.

Silence bloomed between the brothers, not uncomfortable anymore but still not feeling good. Dean finished his breakfast and coffee, rising to go brush his teeth. Normally he'd leave the door open, but today he just wanted a minute to himself. He was met with a maelstrom of penitent Sammy when he came back out.

"So you are mentally scarred, years of thinking about this over and over, and I was clueless. And I pushed you into this, mocked you, and you still weren't going to tell me," Sam's face wore his guilt clearly.

Dean sighed. "I really didn't think you needed to know, Sam, and I was worried how you would look at me once you knew."

"Why do you think I would look at you any differently than as my obnoxious, responsible, brave older brother?" Sam asked.

Dean cracked, eyes filling the tears, but he held them back. Sam, though, Sam saw it, and Sam let his own flow. Wrapping his arms around his older, smaller brother, Sam murmured apologies. Dean allowed Sam a few minutes to get his girly emotions under control before one last back slap and pushing Sam off him. Dean demanded, "This is the end of chick flick moments for this case, okay?"

Sam nodded in agreement, resuming his seat in front of his laptop.

Dean studied his empty coffee cup, then took a swig of the whiskey. "So how do we gank this thing?"

Sam twisted his mouth up in an uncertain frown. "I called Bobby this morning, he's looking for something. I say we work on a succubus model in the meantime."

"And that would be?" Dean asked, eyebrow raising.

"Silver knife, slit the throat or stab through the heart, when its shields are down, so during—" Sam wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

Frowning and shaking his head, Dean finished the statement. "Its during sex, isn't it?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah."

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

It was hours until Dean was supposed to meet Jake, tense hours where Sam continued to research other killing options and Dean went out. In such a small town, there wasn't much to do; and honestly, Dean didn't have many things he killed time with other than women, booze and his Baby. After picking up all the necessary items from two towns over (and picking up a pizza for lunch later), Dean did general service to Baby, changing oil and adding wiper fluid, and wiping her interior down until she shone. Then Dean charmed the woman working the lobby desk to let him pull around the side and use the hose to wash Baby. The everydayness of it calmed Dean's frayed nerves a little bit, and he was able to sit still and meet Sam's eyes while eating a cold slice and discussing Sam's further research.

"Incubi can't be bound like other demons, because their power works on non-physical aspects. A devil's trap can keep a demon from slamming you into a wall, but it can't keep them from mind-fucking you. Incubi and succubae have stronger mental powers than the average demon. They can make you see things, make you do things, without ever laying a hand on you," Sam reported. "That is also why you have to kill them when they're…distracted...or they use mental tricks to disable you."

Dean nodded. "Does it have to be full on sex, or can they feed off of any sexual activity enough to be distracted?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess it depends on how good their dinner is at it. I mean, people have different kinks, so demons have to, right?" Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry you have to do this, Dean."

"It's the job, Sammy," Dean sighed. "But once this is over, we are hitting a strip club for a night of lap dances, and I am fully taking advantage of a busty redhead's unresolved Daddy issues for a few days."

Sam laughed. If Dean could joke—well, that wasn't entirely joking, but certainly lightened the mood—he was okay for now. "I'll hustle a few pool games while we wait tonight to bankroll your hedonism."

Dean smiled. "Thanks, Sammy. That's nice of you."

"Still not going to the strip club with you, though," Sam added, sure this would lead to the revival of an old argument. Sam liked girls just fine, but he would rather spend his money on getting to know a girl rather than drooling at her with a bunch of other men. Dean never understood his aversion, but for once Dean didn't push him.

"Okay, Sammy. More girls for me," Dean smiled. Dean knew his lack of harassment confused Sam, but Dean didn't feel right ragging on what he considered Sam's oddities right now. After all, Sam was entirely too understanding, at this point, of Dean's own.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

The brothers arrived a half-hour early to Rooster's so that they could set up their trap. Dean parked the Impala on the outskirts of the lot, careful to keep the backseat in shadow. He would get Jake to go out to the car, Dean would work his sexual magic, and then pull a silver knife out from under the driver's seat to kill the son of a bitch. Dean apologized to Baby for the need to soil her, and promised her another thorough cleaning tomorrow to make up for it.

Sam stayed in the parking lot, hidden behind a double axeled, shiny new red pick up truck. He was Dean's back-up, ready to step in if anything went wrong with Plan A. He kept his cell phone readily available, on vibrate, as Dean picked his way across the gravel parking lot and entered the bar.

Dean settled into a corner of the bar, keeping an eye out for Jake while waiting for a drink. Service was slow, and after ten minutes of no one taking his order, Dean searched for Kevin. A flustered young man, younger than Dean and maybe younger than Kevin, was sloppily mixing drinks halfway down the bar. Dean caught his eye with a twenty; when the bartender was finished, he made his way down to Dean. Smiling, the bartender asked, "What can I get you, babe?"

Dean mentally cringed at the totally grating endearment. "The lager on tap. Where's Kevin? It his night off?"

The bartender huffed noisily. "He was supposed to be here two hours ago."

"He didn't call out?" Dean asked, immediately suspicious.

Rolling his eyes, the bartender huffed again. "Uh, no. If he had, we would've had someone fill in. Right now, its just me. I'll be back soon with your beer," he threw over his shoulder as he stalked away from Dean.

Reaching for his phone, Dean hit Sam's number. "Kevin's missing."

"Crap," Sam answered.

"We fucked up, Sammy," Dean stated.

"Are you sure?" Sam tried to play devil's advocate. "Maybe he just found a Daddy and lost track of time?"

"I don't think so. Should we go look for him?" Dean scanned the bar, noting Jake still had twenty minutes until he was supposed to show.

"No. Not yet." Regret was evident in Sam's voice. "Give Jake an extra ten minutes to show, and if he doesn't, then we look for Kevin."

"What if that's too late?" Dean asked.

"If that's too late—its already too late for Kevin. It would take at least that long to find out his address—" Sam said.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean agreed. "Let's hope—speak of the devil. He's here."

"Kevin?" Sam asked, hope in his voice.

"Jake," Dean answered, steely resolve in his.

"Get the show on the road, Dean. Sooner we gank him, sooner we can find Kevin." Sam hung up, just as Jake reached Dean.

Smiling widely, Jake slid onto the bar stool next to Dean. "Hi, Dean. Really glad you called."

Dean forced a small smile back, working hard to have it reach his eyes. Pretend its really Jake, he told himself, and you are just catching back up. "Me, too. Sorry my brother and I—"

Jake shook his head. "No worries. I have a brother, so I understand. Sometimes you just gotta hash it out right then and there."

"Well, it got hashed," Dean smiled wider. "And he's not here tonight to distract us."

Dean's beer suddenly smacked down on the bar in front of him, foaming up and over as a result. "Sorry," the bartender shrugged before turning the charm on for Jake. "What can I get you, stud?"

Dean smirked, sipping his beer. "Seriously? I get babe, and he gets stud?"

The bartender met Dean's eyes and smirked unrepentantly back. "Yes." Then he turned back to Jake.

"Same as him," Jake pointed to Dean. Seeing that he had no chance here, the bartender went off for another beer for Jake.

Jake put one foot on Dean's stool to balance himself and leaned over to speak in Dean's ear. "You said that you were only in town for a few days. Where are you staying?"

Dean knew this drill, male or female. "Near here. Sharing a room with Sam, though, so I'll need to give him a heads up to clear out for a bit."

Jake nodded his head. "Hadn't thought of that. How much of a heads up does he need?"

"Half hour," Dean drank more beer.

Jake hissed. He licked and then bit his lower lip, studying Dean from head to toe. "That's longer than I want to wait to get you naked."

Dean took a sharp breath. Jake was much more straight-forward than Dean had anticipated—although Dean should have realized that a creature that feeds off of sex wouldn't pussy-foot around with foreplay. "Got a classic car out there—nice and roomy back seat."

Jake leaned in to speak into Dean's ear, brushing his lips against the shell and making Dean's skin tingle. "Sounds good to me." Jake nibbled on Dean's ear lobe, hot breath in Dean's ear, and then proceeded to lightly kiss his way down Dean's jaw bone and over to Dean's mouth, where he paused.

Dean breathed hard. He knew he wasn't really turned on—this was not Jake, this was a demon who specialized in getting reactions from men—but fuck it, he was. Part of the turn on was the straight-forward sexual desire. Girls usually played hard to get and were not so up front or blunt with what they wanted. Girls required work—fun work, but still work—to get to the orgasm for him. Guys didn't. Especially when they were paying for it, they wanted the big finish, not the pregame show.

"Me, too," Dean answered, his eyes unable to pull away from the fullness of Jake's lips right in front of his. And then he did something stupid.

When Jake leaned in, pressed his lips against Dean's, Dean kissed the incubus back.

Jake's arms snaked their way around Dean, pulling him in close while his lips mapped out Dean's mouth. Dean was captivated, totally against his will. He could feel the pleasure sapping his focus, turning his mind into a puddle. "Let's go," Dean managed to get out when he pulled away to breathe, only one thing currently on his mind—Jake. He hadn't wanted to stop the kiss, but Dean could feel the edges of consciousness start to gray out and knew he had to.

Jake put a twenty on the bar, wrapped his arm around Dean's waist and slipped his hand into Dean's back pocket. Then he led Dean out the door.

"What car is yours?" Jake asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"Black Impala over there. C'mon," Dean took the lead, pulling Jake by the arm so he could keep up with Dean.

Once at the car, before Dean could unlock the doors, Jake spun him and pushed him back-first against the door. Even demon-drugged as he was, Dean had to resist instinct and let Jake maneuver him; pinned against the car, the weight of a male body against him, made Dean want to break free, at least momentarily. He was entirely unfamiliar and uncomfortable in such a vulnerable position.

As if Jake could sense that Dean wanted to make a break for it, Jake leaned in and pressed his mouth against Dean's again. The desire to move out of Jake's embrace dissipated immediately. While conducting a thorough examination of Dean's oral cavity, Jake slipped a leg between Dean's and pressed up against his groin. Gentle pressure back and forth, hands slowing making their way down Dean's back to grip the globes of his ass and pull him tight against Jake's obvious enjoyment of the situation.

Dean groaned. He had never felt so engaged in sex before—full body and mind engaged, to the point where his only thought was to pursue more of it, extend the waves of pleasure he felt roll over his skin with each and every touch. He knew, knew, there was something wrong about this, something he was supposed to remember, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Dean was propelled past "unable to remember" and into "unable to give a shit about it in that moment" when Jake went down to his knees before him. Jake made quick work of Dean's belt buckle and jeans, pausing only long enough to tug the offending garments down far enough to free Dean's cock. "Fuck," was all Dean could say, watching as Jake licked languidly down and back up his member. He couldn't even say that when he watched Jake's lips slide up and down his shaft.

It didn't take long for Dean to lose it. If he'd been of right mind just then, he would have been embarrassed how quickly he came. Through the incubus fog, Dean found himself flashing back. Different men on their knees before him, none of them as good as this. None even good enough to bother remembering a name. But he hadn't wanted those men doing that to him…not like he wanted Jake. That's when Dean lost it, spilling into the demon's mouth and unable to prevent vocally expressing his sincere enjoyment. The intensity of it—nothing had ever measured up to this orgasm—made Dean remember what he was here for. Weak-legged, Dean leaned against the Impala, trying to get the plan back into action.

Jake tucked Dean back into his jeans, rising gracefully and kissing Dean as he zipped Dean up and secured his belt. "Oh, you are so good. I want more of you. Now. Get into the back seat."

Dean found himself wondering why he listened to that commanding tone instead of punching the guy in the face for ordering him around—at the same time as he slid into the back seat and made room for Jake.

Jake realized that Dean was losing the after glow. Part of the problem of being an incubus: sex was mind-blowing, but if you didn't keep it up, dinner started fighting you. The minute Dean felt the leather beneath him while his jeans were being tugged down, with a male weight on him- again, a flashback. Not the math teacher, but another guy who wanted his money's worth and wouldn't follow Dean's rules. Dean couldn't breathe, Dean couldn't move, and then—he wanted to wildly fight against the male weight, the idea that this is the job lost in physical memory. Dean can't, he can't….

The incubus sensed Dean's stress before Dean moved a muscle, and kissed him, hard and deep, to drug Dean again. Once Dean settled, and his breathing resumed some semblance of normal, Jake resumed his original intent and began sucking Dean's cock again. The incubus's saliva was like a sedative, on top of general great sex malaise. Jake worked Dean hard to get another orgasm out of him so quickly, leaving Dean passed out in the back seat.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Sam was ready when Dean came out of the bar. Or, Sam thought he was. He had a moment of complete shock at seeing Dean kissing a guy like that, but it was brief and he quickly got back on task. Sam waited to move until he saw what side of the car the incubus would be on—

Except neither Dean nor the incubus were moving into the car. The incubus had Dean pinned against the car and was feasting on his mouth. Sam turned red. He so did not need to see this. Sam considered taking advantage of their distraction and sneaking up behind the incubus to stab him, but he didn't want to miss or stab too deep and hurt Dean. And then, when the incubus went down on Dean and Dean didn't fight him, at all, Sam considered ending this. But then Sam reconsidered, because he was not sure he wanted to take responsibility for what might happen to the cock in its mouth as it died, afraid Dean might kill him.

Sam was trying to keep an eye on what was going on, but didn't want to keep too close an eye. Dean was right in that there are some things you just want to keep private. Sam really, really didn't need to know Dean's o-face.

Sam hears Dean's call-to-God, and the crunch of gravel as the incubus rose up. What the fuck is going on? Sam worried. He realized things aren't going as planned when he heard Dean…finish…but not the demon. Then he heard the Impala door open and slam shut, and can see bodies in the backseat, moving suggestively. It was not long before Sam could hear Dean again, but still no sound of enjoyment or satisfaction from the incubus. After some shuffling movement—the Impala is roomy, but Dean and Jake were two rather big men—the door opened again and Sam could see Dean step outside.

Sam stepped out from the deep shadows, still partially hidden but enough so Dean can see him. When Dean doesn't sweep the lot to find him, but adjusts his jeans and straightens his hair with a rough hand sweep, Sam knows something is still off. Sam quietly approaches Dean. "Dude, did you get him?"

Dean's head whipped around to locate Sam. The moment Dean paused before answering was the give-away, though. "Yeah, he's in the back seat."

Sam studied Dean before speaking. "I, uh, didn't hear him…finish."

Dean smirked. It was a pretty good approximation of Dean's cocky smirk, the one that said I-just-got-laid. But Dean, the Dean who came clean about his issues from the past, would not be smirking right now at having gotten laid by a guy, much less a male demon. Realizing that something is definitely wrong, Sam pulled his silver knife and approached not-Dean.

With a sigh, not-Dean stopped playing along. "I should have known I couldn't fool you."

"Why bother trying?" Sam asked, circling the demon and trying to figure out the best method of attack.

"I thought it might be fun to see how you deal with Dean's face on my demon body," not-Dean shrugged. "How's the mental screaming going?"

Sam was actually not very bothered by the fact that the incubus wore Dean's face. Sam didn't swing that way, but he could acknowledge that his brother was attractive and that Dean was the most influential man in his life, even more so than his father (and thank god, because his father's face on the incubus would have caused some serious mental disturbance.) So if the incubus needed to borrow a face, Dean's made sense. "Bit quieter than usual, actually," Sam engaged, trying to buy more time.

"Too bad," not-Dean frowned. "Its time for me to get out of here, and I know you aren't going to just let me, so—" the incubus motioned with a hand, employing traditional demon mojo and slamming Sam back against an SUV. When Sam groaned and slumped to the ground, but got up again, the incubus threw him around a couple more times, until he was sure Sam wouldn't get back up.

Then the Impala, Jake now at the wheel, peeled out of the lot, kicking up gravel beneath its rear wheels.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Jake was still driving the Impala when Dean starts to stir. "Whas goin' on?" Dean managed to ask, his eyes still not fully open.

"Just rest, babe. We're going back to my house for some more fun."

"A 'tel room?" Dean slurred.

"We don't need to kick Sam out, Dean. I have a perfectly good house." The demon looked back at the slack figure in the back seat.

"Why'm so tired?" Dean questioned.

"Two orgasms already, Dean," Jake smiled back. "Rest up so you can keep up. You owe me."

Dean nodded, his mind still not functioning well. "'kay. How long 'til we get there?"

"Not long," Jake answered, amazed at just how easy the famed hunter had gone down.

And it wasn't long, just another twenty minutes. Jake rousted Dean from the back seat, supporting Dean's weight when Dean's unsteady legs wouldn't. Jake stopped at the back door to press Dean against it and kiss him hard again. "Soon, babe. Just got to get you into bed," Jake murmured soothingly in Dean's ear. Damn, Jake considered. Either he was an awesome demon or Dean's reputation was exaggerated, because Dean was definitely off his A-game. He barely stirred as Jake guided him down some rickety wooden steps into the basement, settled him on a ratty sofa, and softly clicked the locking chains onto his wrists and around a low pipe to immobilize him.

Grateful that he did not have to fight with the hunter before feeding again—working Dean as hard as he had to keep him compliant had cost the incubus a great deal of energy—Jake climbed the steps and locked the thick wooden door behind him before heading into the bedroom.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Dean woke up to a steady thumping above him. He thought it was just a hangover, until the night's events came back to him in a rush, and he sat up as straight as he could, chained to the pipe, and looked around. Broken detritus of life surrounded him—old toys, boxes spilling out hints of Christmas decorations, worn but not rusty tools neatly hung on a pegboard—but nothing he could reach to use to break free.

As he considered his options, the moaning began. Shit! Who was the incubus draining up there? Hell, it better not be Sammy. Dean would rip the incubus into tiny pieces before salting and burning him just for fun if he had laid a hand on Sammy.

His anger gave him a shot of adrenaline, allowing him to twist in some pretty uncomfortable ways to get to the lock pick kit in his right boot. Thank god the incubus hadn't been savvy enough to strip-search Dean, because that also meant the spare silver knife he had tucked into his left boot as backup should still be there.

Moaning began to resolve itself into intelligible words. Dean could make out "Please, Daddy" and "Let me suck Daddy's cock" before he recognized the voice. Kevin. The incubus was feeding off of Kevin. "I need more—so thirsty, and you taste better than anything—"

Apparently had been feeding quite a bit. Dean stretched and began to kick the nearest support beam hard while yelling, "You fucker! You had to take advantage of him and his daddy fetish because you couldn't take down a real man? Leave that boy alone!" He kept it up until he heard steps overhead, hard on the linoleum, and the basement door slam open.

"Keep your mouth shut, or I'll shut it for you!" the incubus yelled.

"Gonna shove your cock down my throat, then, and leave him alone? Because that's the only way I'll shut up. I'm not going to let you kill him!" Dean threatened.

The incubus sighed. "You are rather impotent right now, all chained up and such. If you can't keep your mouth quiet so that you don't distract Kevin from his pleasure, I will gag you. You see, Dean, you aren't here for my pleasure. You are just business."

Dean decided keeping Jake talking was his best plan right now, to give Sam time to find them and to keep Jake away from Kevin. "Business? What are you, some incubus rent-boy?"

Jake flashed a grim rictus of a smile at Dean. "Not that you aren't pretty and all, Winchester—yes, exactly my type, and how smart of you to figure that out—but you shouldn't throw insults around when they apply to you, too. How many men, Dean? You say it was just for money, but I know you got off on it, too. I can see into that part of your mind, especially with your cock in my mouth."

Dean determined to push the anger down and focus on the case. "How am I business?"

"You damn hunters. I knew who you were the minute you walked into that bar. Who do you think sold them their security system? And kept a back door into it for my own viewing pleasure." Jake stopped monologuing for a moment and smiled for real. "You would be amazed what goes on in the bathroom and parking lot…" He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the image, before continuing. "At any rate, when I figured out you weren't just hunters, but the Winchester brothers to boot…"

"How do you know who we are?" Dean asked, seriously troubled at being discovered that easily.

"Every demon knows you Winchesters. You two—and Daddy, when he was still around—are a huge pain in our collective evil ass. There is a bounty on you, you know. Ten years in the pit to torture you, plus ten million dollars."

Dean made an impressed face. "Well, I guess we are pretty bad-ass."

Jake just shook his head. "I couldn't believe my luck that my powers would work on you. I mean, nothing I ever heard hinted you played for my team. I'm used to not being able to use my powers against most people to defend myself. Try and I usually end up with a fist in my face. But you… you were SO EASY. And thank God, because your brother was an absolute no go. Although I'm sure he's freaking out right now and not just over losing you. You know what face he saw when he looked at me?"

Dean went cold. "You are a really sick fuck."

"I know. And I'm sure I screwed his head up royally. He's going to find your dead body, and absolutely freak. Because the only face I could pull from his straight as an arrow mind—the only guy he ever felt strongly enough about to love, to think was the model of a man? You, Dean."

"Don't say that," Dean begged. There were just so many things wrong with that.

"Don't worry, its not an incest type of love, Dean." The incubus studied Dean's face, the freckles dusted over the nose, those eyelashes laying so close to them as Dean struggled against closing his eyes in the face of the emotions stirred by the demon. "My powers need something to draw on, and that's all he had in that big brain of his that I could use. I mean, I was really grasping at straws and not exactly focused in that second." Jake pressed a palm against his crotch, adjusting himself. "You might be business, Dean, but your lust still tastes really, really good… what was I saying? Oh, yeah. That he loves you and would die to protect you. Its really sweet. And its going to get you both killed."

"Fuck you," Dean spat at the demon.

Jake smiled. "Later, I promise. After I finish with Kevin. But first, I don't want to be interrupted again, so let's gag that pretty mouth of yours." Ripping Dean's own shirt off, the demon tore into a couple strips long enough to wad up into Dean's mouth and tie another piece around it to knot in the back. "There. Kick things again and I'll truss you up so that you can't move. I need access, but I don't mind being the one to do all the work. Got it?"

Dean breathed heavily out of his mouth. He needed to get out of here, quickly, before Kevin died and before Sam showed up. He nodded sullenly, causing Jake's face to light up. "Good." Jake headed back up the stairs, unbuckling and unzipping his pants on the way.

The sex sounds resumed. Kevin was a screamer. Dean could hear the demon working the bartender up, going through his kinky paces, and it made him very uncomfortable to listen to it. So Dean blocked it out by mentally beating himself up. Dean really couldn't believe he got taken like that, without a fight, because he was thinking with the wrong head. It felt worse than any john had ever made him feel, rapes included, because it was totally mental. Jake hadn't had to physically coerce him; he didn't even have to threaten him. He just made Dean want it, even when Dean didn't really.

The guilt and disgust with himself felt familiar to Dean—too familiar. Dean didn't have time for this pity party right now. He had to get free before Kevin died, kill the demon, and get in contact with Sam. He could NOT let Sam have to find his dead body. Ignoring the growing dryness in his mouth from the gag, Dean fought the need to cough. He knew it wouldn't do him any good to cough, what with the amount of material shoved into his mouth, but knowing it and managing to work past the ache in his chest were two different things. It gave him something to focus on, though, while he used the previously retrieved lock picks to open the lock on his chains.

Once free, Dean struggled against the gag's knot, trying to remove it before he had to cough. He did not want the incubus to realize he was working his way free. Unmuffled coughing could give him away, although the sounds continuing from upstairs made Dean think it might not matter that much, after all. Kevin's moans were lessening in intensity, despite the thumping growing louder and more frequent.

That wasn't good.

Pulling the silver knife from his other boot, Dean slowly eased his way up the steps, trying to keep them from creaking and giving away his location. The door, however, was locked, and there was no keyhole from this side to pick. Despair making sweat run down his back, Dean leaned and considered his options. Just as he decided to try to locate a window to escape from, he heard scuffling sounds against the door. Raising the knife in a stabbing position, Dean braced himself for a fight.

As the door swung open, Dean had a second to look before he reacted, and he was very, very glad he did. Sammy stared up at him, lock picks in hand and on his knees, from the doorway. Dean pulled Sammy up, nodding towards the sounds in the living room. Sam nodded affirmatively, raising his gun with the silver bullets and letting Dean follow him. They stopped at each shut door, leaning an ear against it to see if it was the right one. The third one, near the front door, was it. Dean's heart sped up in fear at just how weak Kevin's voice had become.

Sam and Dean had a silent conversation before flanking the door. Dean held up three fingers to count; as the third came down, Sam kicked the door open and burst in, closely followed by Dean.

It was quickly apparent that they might be too late. Kevin was naked, eyes closed and barely breathing, as Jake moved above him, eyes also closed but in ecstasy. Dean threw the knife straight into Jake's heart before Jake could rouse himself enough to disentangle from Kevin and fight. The demon crumpled and fell forward, heavily landing on Kevin, who didn't make a sound or stir.

Sam and Dean immediately pulled the demon off the young bartender. Dean pulled the body to the side and reached around to slit its throat for good measure. Sam tried to wake Kevin up, talking to him while searching for his weak pulse. "You finished there, Dean? Cause I'm going to need a little help here."

Dean wiped the blade off on the carpet quickly before stepping to Kevin's side. "He still alive?" Dean asked, looking at Sam and refusing to look at Kevin.

"Yeah. I think he'll be okay, if we can get him hydrated again and let him rest." Sam took a deep breath and didn't speak for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner, Dean. I should have ganked him in the parking lot, but I didn't realize it was him until the opportunity passed…"

Dean grasped Sam's neck and pulled him so that their foreheads were touching. "Nothing to be sorry for. He had us pegged for hunters as soon as he saw us, and he was taking us out. I didn't act quick enough, not you."

Sam nodded, seeing the truth in Dean's eyes, but also wanting to eradicate Dean's own guilt. "I don't blame you for not acting fast enough, Dean. I mean, I don't swing that way, but he certainly seemed like he knew what he was doing. Or at least knew what you liked…"

Dean released Sam and blew out a hard breath. "We are not going to talk about that again, okay?"

"Are you embarrassed you got blown out in the open, where everyone could see and hear you, or that it was a guy doing?" Sam continued to tease as the brothers shifted Kevin into a sitting position on the sofa and covered him with the blanket from the back of it.

Dean licked his lips. "Okay, we'll talk about this now. Public sex doesn't bother me. And since you know about guys, that isn't it either. I'm embarrassed that it was a demon. Now I'm going to get Kevin some water."

Sam tried talking to Kevin while Dean was gone, but he barely stirred. The water Dean brought back mostly dribbled out of Kevin's mouth, and what he did get down just made him cough. Sam frowned. "I think we may need to call an ambulance, Dean."

"Gotta get the body out of here first." Dean moved to start looking for something to wrap the body in, heading out to search for the bathroom and shower curtain liner; he didn't want demon blood in his Baby if he could help it.

Sam helped Dean bundle up the body as quickly as possible, shouldering the burden fireman style. They ignored the bloodstains on the carpeting, judging that medical help was more important than avoiding criminal investigation at the moment. Sam pulled out a burner phone as soon as he dropped the body into the Impala's trunk, dialing 911. He gave the address and stated that he could see an unresponsive man through the window. No one answered his knocks. Please send an ambulance. Then he dropped the phone in front of the Impala's back wheel; he could hear the crunch as Deal backed over it before driving away.

They headed out of town, away from the motel, to find a good place to salt and burn the body.

 **D &S/D&S/D&S**

Against their better judgment—used to putting as much distance between themselves and a finished job as possible—Sam and Dean stayed in town long enough to visit Kevin in the hospital. He was weak, malnourished, and dehydrated, but no permanent damage was done. Neither Sam nor Dean asked what story Kevin had given to the police or EMTs, but as soon as the nurse left the room, Kevin asked what had happened to him.

"How should we know?" Dean asked back. "We heard you were in here, and just wanted to check on you before leaving town."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Really? You stop in to check on the bartender in every town you go through?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just the cute ones?" he joked.

"Don't even try and distract me, hot stuff," Kevin shot back. "Jake ran into me before my shift started, and asked me for coffee. I thought it was odd, since you were supposed to be meeting him at the bar, but figured what the hell. He was hot." Kevin had to stop and sip on some water to continue. "I don't even remember finishing the coffee. What did you guys do to me?"

"We didn't do anything!" Dean defended himself. "It was Jake."

"Right, you did nothing. That whole drama with the note was just a coincidence." Kevin rolled to his side and closed his eyes. "Don't worry, you bastards. I didn't say anything to the cops, because they won't do anything anyway. But the three of you better never show up in my bar again."

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged his shoulders. Kevin had a cover story in his head already—something ordinary that could explain his supernatural ordeal without destroying his safe worldview. He didn't really need to know the truth. He was safe now, and Dean had no doubt that Kevin would be very, very careful in the future. What was the likelihood of a second near-death supernatural run-in for a civilian? Motioning to the door, Dean headed out and Sam followed. They didn't speak until they were back in the Impala.

"Think he'll be okay?" Sam asked Dean.

"Hope so," Dean answered. "At least he has no clue it was an incubus. He might never remember enough detail to know it was anything other than just plain old rape. He'll just have to work through all the emotional trauma, not that that isn't bad enough."

Sam considered his words carefully. "How did you work through it?"

Dean turned the music up, deliberately avoiding the question. Risking Dean's wrath—and a punch—Sam turned it back down. "You never did, did you? You just shoved it down deep and covered it over."

"Kinda how I do things, Sammy," Dean answered, but left the radio at a more reasonable volume. "And there's no way to do anything to change the past, so why keep thinking about it? I'd rather gank a monster and feel the rush."

Sam kept his eyes on the road, silent for a few minutes. "I found a possible poltergeist in Tiny Springs, Montana we could check out."

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's in the review mirror. "How close is that to Haven?"

"An hour and a half away. More like an hour with you driving," Sam answered, trying to keep his face neutral.

"Are you trying to Oprah me into dealing with my past, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice growling.

Sam pulled a sheet of folded paper out of his pocket and placed it, open, on the seat between them. "Jacob Reismann, the real Jacob Reismann, doesn't live in Haven anymore."

Dean quirked his head to the side, waiting for whatever information Sammy was withholding to come out. "And?"

Sam pointed to the paper on the seat. "I looked up Jake, the real Jake's, contact information before we left. He just so happens to live now in Tiny Springs."

"Aw, c'mon, Sam. You trying to play match-maker?" Dean complained.

"He has a life partner, and a kid. I just thought you might want to…reconnect with an old friend." Sam had thought long and hard about doing this, before he decided to do it.

Dean scowled for the next five miles, but finally reached over and shoved the paper into his pocket. "Thanks, Sammy."

(1)- Home town pedophile who really existed: wiki/Ed_Savitz


End file.
